Before that time, every village in the country had its own traditional singers and dancers.

And Phnom Penh boasted a thriving traditional and modern cultural scene, complete with crooners and rock bands.

Foot bridges connected low-level blocks of the complex, adding to a feeling of community between residents. Credit:Craig Skehan

But under the Khmer Rouge an estimated 90 per cent of Cambodia's artists and performers were wiped out, often specifically targeted for execution.

The White Building was emptied by the ultra-Maoist revolutionaries and the toll on its residents was particularly high because of the concentration of people deemed to be "class enemies".

White Building resident Dork Penh, who teaches the making of traditional masks, was among those who helped resurrect Cambodia's cultural traditions after the years of the Khmer Rouge.Credit:Craig Skehan

Among those who re-occupied the labyrinthine apartments in 1979, upon the overthrow of the Khmer Rouge, was sculptor Dork Penh, now aged 60, who was born in the elephant stables of Phnom Penh's glittering Royal Palace.

His father worked as a teacher of sculpture there and his mother donned the elaborate gilded costumes of a traditional dancer.

The White Building has become dilapidated over years of neglect.Credit:Craig Skehan

Other artists, among them comedians, would socialise with his family.

"I remember So Chin - he made so many people laugh in his movies," Dork Penh recalls, speaking through a translator. "And he made us laugh too with his jokes.

Since the overthrow of the Khmer Rouge in 1979, the ‘White Building’ has sheltered many elderly survivors of the regime.Credit:Craig Skehan

"My parents managed to survive by hiding their background, but I learned later that So Chin and most of the other artists we knew were killed."

Dork Penh was forced to work on rural projects. "It was a living Hell," he said.

The community has since had ups and downs, not least periods where drug abuse and crime tore at its fabric.

Foot bridges between blocks also provided relief from the often stifling heat of the small flats.Credit:Craig Skehan

Official neglect saw the once pristine complex of six low-rise concrete blocks deteriorate, with walls becoming cracked and covered in mould.

But within the White Building, Cambodia's long cultural heritage was not snuffed out.

In dimly lit rooms, elderly masters taught children how to carve the intricate masks of giants and other characters in ancient Khon theatre and there was also a Sunday dance class.

In one spartan ground-floor noodle shop, men and boys gathered to play an old Cambodian version of chess known as ouk.

A school sprung up as well as humble eateries, hairdressing salons and motorbike repair shops.

By contemporary standards in Cambodia, the Japanese developer, Arakawa, has been fairly generous in its compensation to the owners of the small flats, averaging upwards of $US20,000 each, but that does not include rental tenants.

Food stall vendor Poe Arun became teary when asked how she felt about the imminent demolition of the White Building. Credit:Craig Skehan

Poe Arun, 54, who operates a food cart, does not know yet whether she will get any assistance to move.

"Now I am poor and I don't have money or a house," she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

Dork Penh these days teaches sculpture elsewhere in Phnom Penh.

He and others say it would be too traumatic for them to witness the White Building being demolished.

But he and fellow cultural guardians in that place helped resurrect arts that one of the most brutal regimes of the 20th century set out to destroy.